


It's called self-care, heard of it?

by nxttime



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Anyways, Brotherly Bonding, Dick is being an idiot, Fluff, Gen, Impulsive writing, and Jason has to remind him of it, based off a headcanon of mine, little brothers to the rescue, maybe some light angst if you squint, which i will link in the author's note
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-02-07 07:16:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18615784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nxttime/pseuds/nxttime
Summary: “Dick,” he started slowly, eyes never moving from what held his attention as Dick walked to the fridge, opened it, frowned, closed it, and started shuffling through his cabinets.“Yeah,” Dick asked absently, leaning up on his tip toes.Jason blinked, rubbed his eyes, then looked again. “Dick… What the fuck is that.”





	It's called self-care, heard of it?

**Author's Note:**

> Find the headcanon on my blog, right [here!](https://nxxttime.tumblr.com/post/184457774602/so-i-have-this-headcanon-that-dick-doesnt-really)
> 
> I hope you enjoy, and I don't know when this will be updated. Sorry!

Jason was just stopping by for Tim. That’s it. He was doing his little brother a favor by checking up on their oldest brother, and nothing more.

He muttered under his breath as he picked the lock to Dick’s door. All it took was a phone call, bad timing, and the very worried note to Tim’s voice for Jason to show up in Blüdhaven. Three things.

Did that make him weak?

The door clicked open and Jason stood, deciding that, no, it did not make him weak–it made him a responsible little and big brother.

…maybe it was better to be a little soft.

Pulling a disgruntled look, Jason rolled the sleeves to the hoodie he was wearing up and called for the brother he was in Blüdhaven for. “Dick?”

Said brother walked out of the hall as Jason turned away from the door he’d just closed, hair a bedheaded mess that Dick made look purposeful, hand rubbing at his eyes, and wearing nothing but sweats.

“Jas'n?” Dick yawned, shuffling over to pull him into a hug Jason grudgingly returned. “What’re you doing here, Little Wing?”

“Tim called,” Jason easily replied as Dick stepped back and turned for the kitchen. “Sounded worried for you, asked me to check in, and”–Jason opened his arms to gesture at the apartment–“here I am.”

“Oh.”

Following Dick into the kitchen as Dick flicked the lights on, Jason narrowed his eyes at the sight to greet him.

“Dick,” he started slowly, eyes never moving from what held his attention as Dick walked to the fridge, opened it, frowned, closed it, and started shuffling through his cabinets.

“Yeah,” Dick asked absently, leaning up on his tip toes.

Jason blinked, rubbed his eyes, then looked again. “Dick… What the fuck is that.”

Pausing, Dick lowered back down and looked at his little brother as he raised a brow. “What?”

Taking long strides over to him, Jason stopped about a foot away, lifted his eyes to Dick’s, then lowered them again.

He poked one of the many dark bruises mottling Dick’s naturally tanned skin. Then pressed a little harder, and felt fucking _muscle._ No little plush of fat. Just straight to muscle, like it was just a thin layer of skin pulled tight over Dick’s muscles.

“That’s…” Jason looked back up at Dick as he took his hand back. “Dick, that’s not healthy.”

Dick looked confused, blinked, then glanced down at his shoulder where Jason’d poked him, and met Jason’s gaze again.

“What? The bruise?”

Jason scowled. “No, dumbass, I’m talking about the fact that you have _zero_ body fat that I can make out.”

A blink. “And?”

“You’re fucking kidding me, right?”

“No?”

The answer nearly had Jason slap Dick right then and there, but he didn’t, instead tightening his hand into a fist and tapping it on his thigh.

“Dick, every healthy human being on this planet has _some_ percentage of body fat. _Bruce_ has body fat. Tim, Damian, me, and Cass…” Jason shook his head, gesturing at Dick’s body. “This isn’t normal. You look like I did when Bruce picked me up off the street, just with more muscle.”

Jason wished he were exaggerating. Dick looked like someone had grabbed a skeleton, added some accurate tense padding for muscles, and used the thinnest skin they could find to slap him together. The bruises, while concerning, were less of an issue in the grand scheme of things.

And, actually… That thought about Dick looking like Jason when he’d been scraping together scraps on the street made a question pop into Jason’s mind.

He narrowed his eyes.

“Dick, how much do you eat? How often?”

His brother’s reaction to the question made Jason pale, and he shook his head, closing his eyes and rubbing at his forehead.

Dick made a face. “Uhh, I eat when I can? At the station I grab a bagel, and I buy a sandwich for lunch…”

When Dick trailed off Jason looked at him sharply. “And…?” he prompted, waving his hand a little. “After that?”

“Um. I don’t know. I get fast food when I have a day off or something…”

Jason had to slap himself on the thigh to keep from slapping Dick in the face, and he bit the bottom of his lip _hard._

_Is there even anything in his fridge?_

He didn’t dare to ask, instead shoving past his brother and flinging the fridge open, eye twitching at the sight that greeted him.

It was absolutely empty, save for a bottle of apple juice in the corner.

“I hate you.”

“What?”

Jason slammed the door shut, straightening, and he glared at Dick.

“You heard me,” he snapped. “This shit you’re doing to yourself?” Jason stepped closer to the counter and opened the cupboards, unsurprised to find _those_ empty too. He waved a frustrated hand at it, facing his brother, and continued, “It’s ridiculous! How are you even _alive_ right now, Dick?”

Dick frowned a little, crossing his arms. “How is that grounds for hating me?”

“Because you _can_ eat, but you’re choosing to be an idiot! You’re sacrificing your _health,_ that should come before anything and _everything_ else, for what, exactly?”

When there was no forthcoming answer, Jason laughed bitterly.

“Jason…”

“Oh don’t you fucking _Jason_ me, you asshole,” Jason snapped. “You’re basically killing yourself and you want me to be _happy_ about it, or just not care, and you don’t even know _why_ you’re doing it! You’re actively making the conscious decision to _not_ eat in favor of…? Working out? Sleeping? Patrolling?”

Dick opened his mouth but Jason wasn’t done so he spoke over him.

“Our patrol times aren’t set in stone, asshole! You can wait a bit before you sleep to provide your body nutrition it _needs_ to fucking _function._ And your workout can wait too, damn it, quit being an absolute idiot!”

Silence.

Jason glared at him, arms crossed. Dick looked away, sighing, and he sat down at his small table to rest his forehead on it.

The quiet dragged on longer than Jason would have liked.

Dick eventually spoke up.

“I’m sorry, Little Wing,” he whispered, body just radiating exhaustion. “You’re right. I’ll adjust my schedule.”

Fuck, just hearing that made him relax.

Jason exhaled in a long sigh, rubbing at his eyes with a thumb and index finger, grumbling under his breath.

“Great,” he said louder. Leaving the room, he went to Dick’s room, grabbed a shirt, and returned to toss it at his brother, who still hadn’t moved. “Put it on. We’re doing groceries.”

Wisely, Dick didn’t say anything as he slipped the blue t-shirt on, standing to put shoes on with a mumbled, “Give me a sec.”

In the meantime Dick was getting his shoes, Jason was wracking his brain for foods he remembered Dick liking. Their interactions were limited, back when Jason was a kid and even later after he’d returned from the dead, so it was difficult. But there were maybe two or three recipes Jason remembered Alfred teaching him that the old man had commented, “Master Richard does seem to favor this one.”

He made a mental list of all the ingredients he’d need before Dick reappeared with sneakers on.

“Alright,” he said. “Let’s go then.”

“We’re taking my car, Jason.”

“Fine.”


End file.
